On to the next one (my list just got

I’m just too independent for a great many men. It has to get better after a while. The wonderful man I met turned out to be a little to clingy for my liking. All that existed in our relationship revolved around me but I was not a welcome sun in this solar system. It has to be a balanced infatuation. I was really into this guy at the onset of the relationship but he got really serious really fast and we stopped having fun.
Not… Fun… At… All…
It is important that you come from something when you begin a relationship. If all you have are acquaintances and co-workers as your circle of friends, you are going to be in a real pickle if you begin a relationship with a social butterfly.
I firmly believe that I am the person I am because of my experiences with other human beings and living creatures both large and small, plant and animal.
How can you relate to me when you have no memory of how you came to be? Does that put you in a category of persons with no social skills? Not 100% but pretty damned close.
There are things you just have to KNOW what to do to survive and be content in this world of personalities.
Think about it .//
If you are unable to read social cues how can you perform satisfactorily in public. If you are ribbing a person with something you thought was funny and the person is done laughing, do you continue to play up the joke even if the other person has said they were done enjoying the joke with their mannerisms and behavior? Often times you will stop when you see that either the joke was lost completely or over. Both sides agree to do so by reading each others faces and body language.
I have not lost faith in the world of dating.
I just need to remember where I put it.

To be continued…

Goddess

All for the price of a flatiron

Just when I had given up on love, I bumped into a couple of Yentas at The Oasis. Sound juicy? Yeah it is. So tip up your hairdryer and have a listen…
Hairdressers are like cheap therapy but they relate more to real life than most psychologists attempting to dig their way into your childhood with the hopes of helping you build upon the cognitive deficits of your early years… blah blah blah. Hairdressers tell it like it T-I-Is! Your hair dresser gets to know you as well as they know your hair. They know your likes and dislikes and your ups and downs. Some hairstyles you have tried and run out to buy the nearest wig, others you wore until you couldn’t wear it no more. They are hard forged relationships where if you got to see anyone else it is considered cheating. As you talk about your kids, the dogs, schools and such but when it comes to men, there is a hush that sucks the air out of the room. Then there is the talk about men…. *hair dryers grind to a halt*

This single momma has had many dates and many great possibilities of foreverhood thrown, catapulted, launched, placed at her feet and post-it’ed to her computer monitor. Why was I running away from love? Why was it still showing interest in me after I had taken the time out of my busy schedule (another reason for my singlehood) to tell it to go to H-E-double hockey sticks? It all can be summed up in one word… SCURRED. Not scared as in I know what my problem is and I am working on correcting some issues so that I can enjoy a life with a partner but SCURRED as in who in the hell are you and how did you get a key to the place where I locked my heart away foreverrrrrrrrr! You know the song girls… “how did you get here?” “nobody’s ‘sposed to be here…”

So you see, I wasn’t just afraid of making changes in my love life, I was petrified at the prospect of putting myself out there after a bad relationship that left me bitter, jaded and guarded against ever falling in love again.
Back to the flatiron… *Whitney Houston starts singing again in the background.*

The do was on it’s way to making me look homeless so off I head out to see the “Hair Whisperer”. Her name is Mai but I have renamed her as such due to the fact that she has a talent not many stylists possess… An ability to convince my hair that it is no longer in chains on a ship crossing the Atlantic during Middle Passage but flowing tresses that would make Fabio hang his head in shame.

I plop down in my seat and began my journey.

A question…

“Meet any nice guys lately Gracie?”

I answer to the affirmative, but then I always do. The issue at hand is the longevity of the time the nice guys get to stay around. My record at successful one date wonders would rival the Sacramento Kings away game wins record.
“I met this nice guy named Paul…”

I begin by launching into all that is not good in HIS world and how HE is not perfect and that I have standards that are so high that a man with hemophilia will be dead before he reaches the summit and how I can justify telling him that I didn’t want to see him because I was SCURRED. Mind you, I never admit to being SCURRED. I just take the time to put up a wall of “can’t touch this” so high that he gives up at the base because Sherpas are Roschambo’ing one another to see who is game for taking another victim up Mt. Gracie.

I agree that I am a difficult mountain to summit! I make it that way. Sometimes you just have to listen to the MaiTay advice of the stylistas at The Oasis. Tay is two booths down. She is our rock star, cheerleader stylist. I don’t think she gets it all from Starbucks either. She also teaches classes at the local gym so she has that bouncy “OH EM GEE R U SERIOUS?” kind of vibe. She definitely keeps me from tipping my head trying to find the sleep I lost the night before worrying about those damned Sherpas on Mt. Gracie! The atmosphere in the hair shop is something to be experienced by everyone. With music playing and conversation going and the sounds, sights and smells of hair getting beautified, it makes you feel the safety of your mommas kitchen on Sunday evenings when it was press and wash night (of course without the risk off your hair catching fire or the ever looming threat of that that little drop of hot bergamot waiting to run onto your forehead and scar you for life.).

Anything I have to say about men is always interesting because I am twisted in such a way of speech. I can add flowers to a pot of vinegar and still make them grow with my speech. I start taking about the most recent catastrophe that I have launched myself into with Paul. He was kind gentle, spirited, actually cares about me and my son and ahem… hold on to your weaves girls…

He opens car doors for me…..

You heard me. There ain’t nothing in your ears. He is a GENTLEMAN!
My question is: what in the hell do you do with a gentleman? They are so few and far between that sometimes they slip through the cracks. Agreed that some women find them and hide them away in the basement of marital despair but some of them hang out just long enough to catch the eye of a woman who has been waiting their whole lives for them.
I waited… and while I waited I complained ad nauseum to Mai the Hair Whisperer. I know she wants the best for me so I could not help but to continue. Every hair appointment was the same. It wasn’t me it was them, they should know better, they should read minds, they should have instructions placed in their back pockets at age 14.

It’s not me….. It’s you…

Oh the flatiron…

I was talking about this guy named Paul who I could not understand for the life of me. He was so kind to me I thought he had to have an ulterior motive. I would talk to the Yentas and spill my heart about how nice he was.
Mind you, every time I mentioned that he was “NICE” I think the hair whisperer was thinking more and more about popping me with a comb. I talked about how we had started our relationship and how I let my fear push him away. I had told him that I could not see him anymore because he was not the guy for me. All I could come up with was “I just don’t think you are the guy for me”.

You smell shit? I sure do…

Through my many sessions of MaiTay good advice I came to realize that I had reached a brick wall that was holding back the torrential flood of love prospects. I built the wall and I built it good mind you. The only thing that failed in the wall was the problem with destruction. I had built the Berlin wall of Love and I unfortunately was on the West End cut off from all possibility of happiness without a sledgehammer to boot.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Speed Dating for Single Book Lovers Pt. Deux

The time has come to reveal how I feel about the actual night of speed dating.
I was more than surprised to see the turnout. I am glad most people were classy and did not dress like they were going to the gym or going to the swingers bar.

I was very very worried that I was going to encounter black men who thought that “Hop on Pop” was a choice item of literature to present with on their name tag for the dating games.

Mind you, this was a room filled with primarily black men from all walks of life but what I did not see was all the bling and the grillz. none none none

They loved all kinds of books from war manuals that have been adapted to workplace manuals, science fiction, poetry and history.
They knew their stuff and I was rightly impressed.

I got my email just the other day advising me of my choices.
Now see, you can’t get a match unless they put your number down on the card as well.
I put down about 7 matches and came back with a final tally of 4 guys.

I went to look at the names and believe it or not, a couple of them I figured out their names because I had my ears wide open the whole time I was threre.

No, I was not sitting there looking pretty. I was listening like a beagle for a gopher in a field of grass.

yaya for me.
I am proud of my self (as has been said by my Auntie Terrie) for getting off my duff and dragging myself out to the place. I was pleasantly surprised because I took a chance and was rewarded by meeting a group of interesting men who took the time to be knowledgeable of what they were being asked to discuss.

all but married man…

let me tell you about married man.
shame on his boogie man behind for bringing his separated behind up in the place. he even had the gall to wear his ring!!! I am almost sure no one picked him after he decided that he could grab some food. he was my last date and the whole time I sat and talked to him, he was sitting there EATING! Negro, put down your food, take a swig of water, pop a breath mint and talk to me.

I swear, i I had to hear any more of his grunting between mouthfuls of food and mayo running down his arm, I would have run from the building screaming like I was getting paid for it.

*note to self* be thankful that speeding dating is just that; SPEED DATING… 3 minutes was almost more than I can take.

This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.